


though our body's weak and breakable (the spirit is indomitable)

by CrayolaRainbow



Category: The AM Archives (Podcast), The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Gen, He gets better, LITERALLY, Major Character Undeath, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-TAMA, Resurrection, Temporary Character Death, owen lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrayolaRainbow/pseuds/CrayolaRainbow
Summary: Owen is cold. It feels like he's been cold forever. Will he ever wake?
Relationships: Joan Bright & Owen Thompson | Agent Green, Mark Bryant & Owen Thompson | Agent Green, Samantha Barnes & Owen Thompson | Agent Green
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Happy Birthday Marcus





	though our body's weak and breakable (the spirit is indomitable)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefigureinthecorner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefigureinthecorner/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY MARCUS
> 
> So I started writing this fic on July 31st 2019 (the day episode 15 came out) at about 9:50 pm and wrote the first 1.3k or so in a couple hours, and then couldn't figure out how to continue and finish it until yesterday.
> 
> BUT I DID
> 
> Based off of [this](https://hgk477.tumblr.com/post/186538355044/nine-things-about-being-brought-back-from-the-dead) tumblr post.
> 
> Beta'd by write_away. Thank you!!!!
> 
> Title from Indomitable by Jeff Williams, from the RWBY Volume 6 soundtrack.
> 
> Semi-graphic descriptions of being brought back from the dead ahoy, so be warned.
> 
> It's spoopy.

It’s cold. So cold. And dark. Why is it so dark? He can’t open his eyes, but maybe there just isn’t anything to see? His muscles seize and then he is breaking. It's like the chains have fallen away he opens his mouth to take a deep gulp of air but all he can hear is screams. Someone is screaming. Is it him? He can't stop. He doesn't want to.

Every bone and muscle in his body aches. There is a sharp pain in his chest when he breathes and screams and screams and screams. Someone is holding his hand and he squeezes hard, squeezes through the pain. Squeezes so hard they can’t pull away. He hears something crack and thinks it might be bone. Is it his? Is it the bones in the hand he is holding? He _Aches._

His eyes fly open and he screams some more. He tries to shoot up from where he is lying down, but strong arms push him down. It _Hurts_ more than lying down does. The nausea takes him before he’s back down. He leans over and throws up. In his limited vision, he sees sneakered feet skittering away from the mess. He hears a voice complaining, but he cannot place whose it is.

There is a quiet murmuring as gentle hands push his hair back and guide him back to lying down. Another set of hands wipes his face with a tissue. The cool sheets feel horrible against his ice cold body.

“Blankets. Please,” he rasps out. It hurts to talk. Why does it hurt to talk? “I’m so cold.”

He only has a shitty hospital blanket at first, but soon he is piled high with more quilts and blankets than he can count. He is still cold, but it’s getting better.

He looks around at the people surrounding him. Joan, Mark, and Sam. Wadsworth is there too, lurking in the background.

“Wh-” he tries to ask.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Joan hushes him. “Don’t ask questions. It’s better if you don't ask.” 

“Why am I here?”

“You- you _died_ , Owen. You died and it was awful. Wadsworth pulled some strings. We’ve worked for months to bring you back.”

At last, Owen’s slow eyes make their way to the final figure in the room. They could almost be mistaken for the Adam that Owen first met, dressed in all black.

“W-”

“Hush, Agent. Do not ask questions. It is bad luck. You will not last long if you ask questions about this. Live your life full and well, but do not question this moment. It is a gift to you. Do not squander it.”

“I-” Owen tries to say something, anything, but instead he is swarmed by the people in the room. He is the epicenter of a massive hug, still covered in blankets. He feels so blessed and grateful and Confused. But he is so, so happy to have this second chance.

The hug breaks for a moment, and Owen looks back to the figure.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it, from the bottom of his heart, from the tips of his toes to the hairs on his head. Every fiber of his being aches and is in pain and is so cold, and utterly, incredibly grateful.

The figure nods to Owen and looks him dead in the eyes. “I mean it, Agent. Do not squander this. I am not above making you question this and bringing about your own doom. I do not do this often.” 

The figure opens the door to leave. “Wadsworth knows my terms. She will pass them on.” And with that the figure is gone, door shutting gently behind them like they were never there.

“I’m gonna go… wait out in the hall,” Mark says. “I’m glad you’re okay, man.” He claps Owen on the shoulder before heading out the door. It’s intensely awkward.

All three women try to speak at once. This is worse than the awkward shoulder stuff.

“Do you mind taking turns?” He looks at the women and puts on his best puppy dog eyes, the ones that always worked on his mama. He does not put out his boo boo lip, which was never as effective as his sister’s was.

“Right, yes of course.” Sam says.

“Who do you want to go first?” Joan asks.

Owen looks at each of them. “I think I’d like to speak with Director Wadsworth first, if that’s alright. I’d like to know what sort of contract I was put under without my consent, and what the terms of this arrangement are.”

“Of course,” Wadsworth says smoothly.

Sam and Joan get up to leave, and Joan finally lets go of Owen’s hand. Not that he minded. Quite the opposite. He didn’t realize how much he was using her like an anchor since he woke up. Since before that, even. He misses the feel of her hand in his as she goes and cant help the unconscious movement of his hand as it attempts to hold what isn’t there. The door closes behind them and Owen tucks his hand under the mountain of blankets.

“Director Wadsworth, what the hell-”

“Agent Green,” Wadsworth says smoothly. “Might I be allowed to lay out the terms of your contract, before you accidentally and irreparably break it?.”

“Of course. And please, for at least just today, can you call me Owen?”

“Right. Of course, Owen.” Wadsworth takes a shaky breath. “The terms of your deal, you contract, are simple. You do not remember how you died, and you are not allowed to go poking around and asking to try and find out how. They did not say what would happen if you did, but from their implications, I gather it would not be pleasant, and all of us would like to keep you around longer than a few days. You can’t ask how the ritual was performed. Specifically, how the ability works, the mechanics of the thing. They say it is bad luck, and you would not last long. This is a blessing, Owen. Please treat it as such and don't throw it away just to satisfy your own curiosity.”

“Director Wadsworth, how did you- How did you even know about this atypical? As far as I am aware, there is no such atypical with that sort of ability anywhere, let alone locally.”

“That is none of your concern, Owen. Just know that I did this as your friend, and not as your director. You are more useful to me alive, yes, but I didn't do it because of your usefulness. I do like you, and would like to see you stick around as long as possible.”

“Right,” Owen says. This was not what he had been expecting from Wadsworth. Dramatic confessions of friendship? “Director Wadsworth, how long-” he starts to ask.

“About two months. The snow drops are coming in, and they look beautiful.” And with that, Director Wadsworth leaves the room.

Sam comes in shortly after, her face covered in tear tracks. She throws a bunched up tissue away in the little trash bin before taking a seat at the side of Owen’s bed. “Owen, I am so, so sorry,” she sniffles.

“Sam, please don't cry. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault. I can’t remember what happened, and I still know it wasn’t your fault.”

“No. I should have stayed, I could have helped. God, seeing you like that….” Sam trails off.

“Sam, you don’t need to worry about it anymore. It’s not your fault, you couldn’t have predicted this. And I’m fine now! Everything worked out in the end.”

Sam laughs a little, but her heart isn’t in it. “Yeah, okay. D’you want me to send Joan in?”

“Yes please.”

Sam lurches forward then and hugs him. “God, I missed you. I’m glad you’re back.”

Owen buries his face in her hair and squeezes tight. “Me too.”

Joan comes in as soon as Sam leaves, before the door has a chance to close.

“Owen!” She rushes over to the bedside and gives him a massive hug.

“Oof! Careful of the chest.”

“Oh! Oh, I didn’t think, I’m so sorry.” Joan pulls back and tries to stand up, but Owen pulls her back in.

“I didn’t say stop, just be careful.”

“Right.” She leans back in for a hug, but much gentler this time.

He holds her for… a while. He breathes in the smell of her shampoo and holds in his tears. God, he missed this. It’s messed up that he had to die in order to hug Joan like this again, but he isn’t complaining.

“I forgive you,” Joan says, quietly.

“What?” Owen pulls away slightly.

“I forgive you,” she says a little louder, looking him in the eye. “I’ve had two months to think about it, and I forgive you.”

“Joan, you don’t have to do that,” Owen sighs. “I don’t want you to forgive me out of grief and guilt.”

“Owen, you died while trying to do the right thing. Your sacrifice would be in vain if I didn’t forgive you.”

Owen shifts. “Joan, that’s not how that works at all. And I’m back, so there’s no point in forgiving me.”

Joan frowns. She opens her mouth to say something, but Owen really doesn’t want to argue with her.

“What have you been up to the past couple months? How’s the AM?”

Joan frowns again and takes a seat in the chair next to the bed. “The AM is fine. Everyone misses you.” She smiles wryly. “You somehow managed to get even more popular with the patients.” She hesitates for a moment, before continuing. “Jackson and I got together.”

Oh.

Owen’s not sure how to feel about that. He supposes that it makes sense. They were already working towards that when….

Well. It makes sense.

“Oh! Joan, that’s wonderful. He’s a good man. A much better man than I’ll ever be. I’m sure Alice is pleased.” He beams and it only feels a little fake.

Joan frowns and the smile falls from Owen’s face. “What? What did I say?”

She shakes it off and smiles back. “Oh, it’s nothing. You just. No, it’s nothing.”

He’s too tired to pry, or comment on how fake her smile looks.

“Are you happy, Joan?”

“I’m happier than I was yesterday.” She pats his hand.

“Joan.”

She sighs. “I’m happy, Owen. These last couple months have been hell, but Jackson makes me happy.”

Owen smiles. “That’s all I really need to know.”

There's silence.

Owen can hear the clock ticking softly in the background.

More silence.

Owen clears his throat suddenly. “Ahem. Um. Joan, can I talk to Mark, please? Alone?”

Joan looks at him quizzically. “Alright. Why?”

“Well, I haven’t seen him in a while, and I doubt he’d ever come in here on his own.”

Joan doesn't seem convinced, but she relents. “Fine. One Mark Bryant, coming right up.” She heads to the door and pokes her head out. “Hey, Mark, he wants to see the ugly Bryant sibling.”

“Damn, then why’s he sending _you_ out?” Mark asks as he enters the room.

Joan sticks her tongue out at Mark as she leaves. “Asshole,” she calls over her shoulder.

“Love you too, Joanie!” Mark closes the door behind her. “Green,” he says. His posture changes as he walks over to Owen, standing at the foot of the bed. Owen can see his walls going back up, replacing the bricks he took down long enough to peek over the top and joke with Joan.

“How have they been?” Owen asks. “Joan and Sam and Wadsworth, though I doubt you care enough to pay attention to her. I don’t trust them when they say they’re fine.”

Mark frowns and pulls up a chair, sitting in it backwards, facing the bed. “I’ll be honest with you? Not fucking great. I’ve got no fucking clue how Wadsworth’s been. She just showed up a couple days ago and got everyone all excited about some new plan she cooked up. Frankly, I didn’t think it was a great idea, getting everyone’s hopes up like that. If it failed…” Mark trails off.

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’re back. It means Joan and Sam and everyone else we know won’t be moping around.” Mark pauses. “And don’t you dare tell anyone I said that.”

Owen cocks an eyebrow. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

“I’ll take it to my grave.”

There's a pause.

“Too soon?” Owen asks, worried.

Mark snorts. “No, not at all. Maybe keep it in around Sam and Joanie if you don’t want the chance of them bursting into tears.”

“You don’t think they’d actually…”

“Nah, but it might be close. This has been _rough_ on them, don't let them fool you.”

Owen frowns slightly. “I thought as much.”

“What about you? How are you feeling? How’s being undead treating you?” Mark asks, leaning forward slightly over the back of the chair.

“Me? Oh, I’m fine.”

“Fucking bullshit,” Mark spits. “I don’t need an empath in the room to tell me that.”

Owen wasn’t expecting that. It’d been years since someone had called him out on it. Not even Joan had ever figured out that Owen was lying through his teeth every time he said he was fine.

“You died and got brought back. You’re allowed to not be fucking fine.”

Owen crosses his arms and glares at Mark. “I can’t not be fine. For exactly those reasons! I just got brought back, they need to be able to see that I’m okay, so they can start healing and moving on. The need to see that I’m fine so they can forget that I ever wasn’t.”

“Jesus, Green, that’s not how this works! You can’t just will yourself to be fine so your friends can heal. You fucking _died_. They _mourned_ you. They aren’t going to forget that. Sam and Joan aren’t going to magically recover now that you’re back, that’s not how trauma works.”

“Well maybe I don’t give a fuck how trauma works!” Owen thunders.

“Jesus Christ dude. You need therapy.” Mark stands up and walks to the door. “And not from my sister.” He opens the door. “I’ll send the girls back in.”

And he’s gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Hmmmmm,,, a future Mark/Owen fic to come, maybe?
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @the-emerald7


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